


The Poker Chip

by iantosgal



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-23
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-15 22:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/854854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iantosgal/pseuds/iantosgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not every totem has a story. But Eames’ does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Poker Chip

Not every totem has a story. Some, like Ariadne’s, had been made or altered simply to be a totem for that particular person. Others had a back story like Cobb’s.

No one knew the story of Eames’, or even realised that it did in fact have a story.

Not until he freaked out on a job.

*~*~*~*

Helen Dray was a hard woman. She loved only three things. Her job, her dog and herself. Her husband didn’t come into the equation.

They had been together for a long time and she was bored of him.

She was a high profile woman, a high flyer in the fashion world and was worth a fortune. Unless she came up with a solid reason for a divorce from her waste of space husband, he would likely get half of everything in a highly covered divorce settlement and Helen Dray was not about to let that happen.

She wanted to know how big his gambling debt was, how many hookers he’s played away with since they’d been married, anything that could be used against them.

She heard Cobb was the best extractor in the business and that he had an impeccable team.

She gave them a call.

*~*~*~*

Eames swallowed nervously.

Ever since they’d taken this job he’s been wary. The subject matter was a little too close to home for him and every cell in his body screamed at him to get the fuck out of there now.

But he didn’t because he wasn’t weak. He could handle this. He was a professional.

Still, when there was a loud crash and the doors burst open, Arthur and Cobb dragging the blindfolded Jim Dray in and roughly throwing him in a chair, Eames felt his heart rate speed up and he was pretty sure he started sweating.

Why did they have to take this tactic? Why couldn’t they have gone softly, softly under the radar?

Cobb was convinced Jim Dray would answer better to violence so Eames went with it but inside he was freaking out.

It wasn’t the violence that was doing it. Eames thrived on violence, loved it sometimes. There was nothing better than a good bar fight every now and again.

No. It was the way Dray was tied up, the way Arthur and Cobb were shouting at him demanding their money, taunting him to get him to say how much he owed, pistol whipping his face. It was the warehouse they were in and the way Cobb decided to break a few fingers. The way Arthur used his fists with enough power to snap a few ribs.

It was all too much.

“Alright, alright!” Eames shouted, marching over and pulling a bemused Arthur away. He ignored the look Cobb shot him and pushed Arthur hard in the chest so that the slighter man stumbled. “That’s enough! Jesus.”

Eames ran a hand through his hair. His breathing was out of control but he took a gulp of air and tried to get himself under control.

“Eames?” Ariadne’s voice was soft. Soft enough that Eames could pretend not to hear her.

“Look, mate,” Eames said, crouching down in front of the terrified, blindfolded man. “Just tell us what we want to know and I can get you home, and I can stop all this. Just tell us how much you owe.”

“How will that stop this?” Dray stuttered out, blood painting his lips a sickening crimson. “You already know?”

“Yeah, well they’re sadistic bastards and they just want to hear you say it. Just say it. Come on.” Eames was very aware that he was pleading. He was crying too, hot tears sliding down his face.

He needed to get out.

“Just fucking say it!” he shouted.

There was a moments silence and then Dray whispered something Eames couldn’t catch.

“Sorry?”

“$6,000,000.”

Eames didn’t even try to hide his relieved sigh.

“Ok, ok. We need evidence. Where is it?”

Dray choked out a sob.

“There’s a letter, from…from the guy…I owe money. It has what I owe and when he wants it by. Please, is that enough? Please, I just want to go home.”

Eames let his head hang forward in relief

“We got what we wanted can was just leave now please?”

He turned to find three stunned faces staring back and hastily tried to wipe his tears away.

“Sure,” Cobb half whispered. “We’re done here.”

*~*~*~*

As soon as he woke up, Eames yanked out the needle and stood up, grabbing his bag and exiting the train carriage before the other had even finished opening their eyes.

He eventually found a mercifully empty carriage and sank into a seat.

He closed his eyes.

It was a mistake.

Unbidden images flittered across his mind. Masked faces screaming at him, close enough he could practically feel the heat. Fists and baseball bats flying through the air, ploughing into him with a sickening thud again and again. A hand on the back of his neck, forcing him forward, out of the chair and onto his knee. Forcing him to watch, crying as they beat his brother to death in front of his very eyes. Screaming at them to stop, begging them to take him, it wasn’t Jamie’s fault. Leave him alone. Please, please…take me. Please. Watching the light go out in those blue eyes, blood marring his brothers beautiful features. He cried. They pushed him down and threw a poker chip at him, laughing as they left him to forever be drenched in his brother’s blood.

His eyelids snapped up just as the door slid open. Arthur stood in the doorway, his often unreadable face crinkled in concern.

“Hey, you ok?”

“I’m fine.”

“What was all that about back there?”

“Ah, just me being impatient,” Eames said, with a smirk hoping to deflect the conversation.

“So those were inpatient tears then,” Arthur say, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Eames’ smile drops.

“Look,” Arthur says, his voice softer and he leans forward. “I don’t want to pry but if it’s affecting your work…”

“Its not.”

“It just did, Eames.”

Arthur stares at him in the silence that follows, watching the Englishman studiously ignore his gaze. After what seems like hours, Eames clears his throat and looks up, his eyes dry but filled with something that Arthur can’t quite read.

“I had a brother. His name was Jamie. He died. The end.” Eames made to get up but Arthur grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“No, you can’t just walk away from this. That doesn’t explain what happened back there.” He tightened his grip and gave a small tug on Eames’ arm, forcing the other man to look at him. “Talk to me,” he said softly.

Eames closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I was young and I was stupid. I thought that I could get away with anything and I did, most of the time. But I had a gambling problem before I was even twenty-one and I played with some hard fuckers, Arthur. When I couldn’t pay up, they sent round the heavies. Pulled me and Jamie out of our beds in the middle of the night, tied my mum up in the kitchen and then put these bags over our heads. When they took them off we were in a warehouse.”

There was something like verging understanding and horror in Arthur’s eyes.

“They did me first. Beat me shitless and then brought out a baseball bat and just kept hitting me until I couldn’t think, I couldn’t…I couldn’t…do anything. And just when I thought maybe it was all over and they were going to finally kill me, they let me go. Held me down and the floor and made me watch as they beat my little brother to death.”

Arthur’s hand clenched around Eames’ arm and his thumb started rubbing absent mindedly along the curve of his muscle.

“I pleaded with them to stop but they just ignored me. Left me there in a pool of my brothers blood. Mum never spoke to me again. Can’t blame her. I murdered her favourite son.”

“No, no you didn’t.”

“Yes. I did. He was always the good one, Arthur. He was all set to go off to university and I never even finished high school. I was the screw up and I got him killed. Those bastards might have done the dirty work but I still murdered him.”

“Eames…”

“Right before they left, they threw this at me.” Eames reached into his pocket and pulled out his totem. The poker chip. “They laughed and threw it right down next to me. I kept it with me always after that, to remind myself never to go to far, to never bet more than I had. I know I should never have bet again, but…I’m weak, always have been. And this is all getting far to emotional for me,” he said with a forced laugh as he brushed the tears roughly from his cheeks.

“Why didn’t you say anything? Before we went into the job, why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I didn’t want you to know.” Eames looked Arthur square in the eye. “I didn’t want you to know just how worthless I am.”

Arthur stood at that and was suddenly in Eames’ lap, straddling his thighs and pushing him back into the seat. He brought his hands up and framed Eames’ face with them, forcing the Englishman to meet his gaze.

“You are not worthless. Not to me.”

And Arthur kissed him and it was everything Eames had ever wanted but it felt wrong. He’d just told Arthur how much blood was on his hands and now he chose to kiss him.

It was too much.

He brought his lips away, albeit reluctantly, and looked down.

“Don’t. I don’t deserve compassion. Just. Just promise me you won’t tell them?”

“I promise. As long as you don’t push me away.”

Eames nodded reluctantly and looked back up at Arthur, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss.

Arthur never told the rest of the team what Eames had told him, always saying it wasn’t his story to tell and to just let it go.

But he never let Eames feel useless again.


End file.
